La frutta *

(reading the paper placemat at Colombo’s)

Start at the heel of the boot,

at the sumptuously-named Lecce,

and run your finger around the graceful

toe, beaded with Sicilian heat.

Move slowly upwards, pausing at the knee

to genuflect at the Holy City, then on

to gaze in awe at the high-swept sinews

of the landscape leading up to Assisi.

Come around the thigh, taking time to

taste the savors of Bologna, Parma, Genoa,

circling over and round the graceful

inland swell of the northern provinces

and down, down again to glide

upon the glistening canals of

Venice, whispering softly as the

red wine disappears like a sunset.

[*dessert]